Even he knew who Immortal Flame and Broken Sword were. The former was the first human to conquer the Second Nightmare and become a Master. The latter — the first one to conquer the Third Nightmare and become a Saint.
They, as well as their companions, were among the most famous heroes of the human race, someone who had managed to change history with their own two hands. If what Caster said was true, then Nephis wasn't just an aristocrat… she was royalty!
No wonder he addressed her as "lady". Why didn't he just call her "princess" instead?
But that didn't make any sense!
Echoing his thoughts, the pale-faced Sleeper asked in trembling voice:
"Then why… why is she so…"
Caster sighed.
"Because they're all dead. The Immortal Flame clan is long gone."
For a few moments, the locker room was completely silent. Caster looked down.
"She's the only one left."
***
Late at night, when everyone was already asleep, Sunny furtively entered the dojo. Looking around, he made sure that no one was there and then curiously approached the ring where Nephis and others had been tested earlier. He stopped at the center of the ring and stood there for a while, remembering how she had dealt with dozens of Sleepers of their batch before being defeated by Caster.
"Monsters… both of them are monsters!" he mumbled, bitter and disheartened.
Shaking his head, Sunny left the ring and then he looked at his shadow.
"Do you agree?"
The shadow hesitated for a few seconds, then stuck out its chest and crossed its arms, trying to appear cocky, disdainful and unperturbed. However, its act wasn't very convincing.
"Yeah, you're right. Exactly! What's the big deal anyway?"
Both Immortal Flame and Broken Sword, Nephis's father and grandfather, were as monstrous in terms of power as one can get. But they still failed to protect their family from being eviscerated. So, power wasn't that important in the end.
Even royalty was not safe from the cruelty of the world.
Sunny sighed and proceeded to the measuring machine. Making a fist, he swung it and delivered his best punch. The machine hummed for a few seconds and then displayed a single number.
Nine.
"Oh, come on! I deserve a ten, at least!"
Feeling very indignant, he struck the plate again, almost hurting his fingers. However, the result was the same.
"Damn it!"
Sunny paced for a bit, trying to control his anger. It seems he was destined to be a weakling. After all, the force of the strike depended on mass and acceleration. Acceleration could be improved with technique and exercise, but mass was something he had little control of.
He was already done growing, and his height was not going to drastically increase in the future. No matter how hard Sunny trained, he was always going to be a lightweight.
'How is this fair?'
Suddenly filled with resentment, he punched the plate again, putting all of his frustration into this one strike.
At that moment, a strange instinct suddenly awakened in Sunny's mind.
Following the command of this instinct, his shadow flowed up and wrapped itself around his hand, sticking to it like a black glove. In the next moment, the punch connected.
The machine trembled from the force of the strike. Sunny's yelped in pain and took a step back, cradling his bruised fist. After a while, the result was displayed. However, it wasn't a nine anymore.
It wasn't even a ten.
It was eighteen.
He looked at the displayed number for a long time, expressionless.
Then, a wide grin slowly appeared on Sunny's face.
"I see. So that why. Of course!"
He clenched his fist again, looking down at the black, shadowy glove.
Ah, what an invaluable helper indeed.
"Now we're talking!"